


crying

by xaccier



Series: dreamnotfound fics [9]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: 3+1 Things, Boys In Love, Cuddles, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, George cried and dream consoled him, Gream - Freeform, Growing Up Together, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Love, M/M, Memories, No Dialogue, Past Character Death, Silent Comforting, dreamnotfound, hand holding, no beta we die like men, very brief mentions of bad parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-14 19:27:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28925784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xaccier/pseuds/xaccier
Summary: When George was six, he cried.When George was ten, he cried again.When George was fourteen, he cried again.When George was seventeen, Dream was the one who cried.—three times george cried, and one time dream did.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Series: dreamnotfound fics [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2026964
Comments: 16
Kudos: 238





	crying

**Author's Note:**

> don't share this work in cc's donos! be respectful!
> 
> i wanted to write a hurt/comfort fic, and this ended up being more of a vent than anything  
> either way, please enjoy <3

When George was six, he cried.

His feeble body shook, racking with insatiable sobs that he couldn’t calm. His knee throbbed painfully, flesh burning as it always did after a careless tumble.

Dream had hugged him close that day, gathering the puny boy in his arms while he stroked small fingertips through George’s soft hair earnestly. Presumably, Dream had been mumbling comforting reassurances into his ear, but even if he hadn’t been, George couldn’t remember. The only things he could remember from that day were the calloused fingers, worn from monkey bars and wood chips, threading through his brunet curls— and waking up three hours later alone in his bed.

When George was ten, he cried again.

Hidden away under a tree in a nearby park, he sobbed his sorrows away into his hands. Faintly, he could remember the breeze brushing past his hair and mixing with autumn leaves, tangy aromas of gas and petrol polluting his breathing every time a car drove past. Momentarily and never to be seen again— George wished, that day, that he could drive away too.

The moon stood high in the night sky when a steady arm wrapped around his shoulders, consoling warmth in the midst of the cold that he hadn’t realised he was feeling. He couldn’t stop himself from leaning into Dream, unintentionally reaching out for any form of sympathy— _any form of tenderness_ —that he could, earlier morals of denying pity tossed aside.

George ignored the voice of disappointed screaming and lectures that his father had engraved into his mind, instead choosing to focus on the familiar blond boy who pulled him close to his chest. He cried until he had no more tears to cry that night, and woke up in the abandoned park alone the next day.

When George was fourteen, he cried again.

Numbly, he let tranquil, useless tears drip down his pale face. His body was cold, indefinite chills pouring down his skin. His eyes were bleary that day, passing crowds and families’ mourning, praying, coffins descending and lives being left for the memory books only.

George stood alone by his mother’s newly dug grave, dirt still fresh, until a presence approached him from the side. He didn’t move when a hand curled around his, another incorrigible tear eluding him as temperate lips pressed against his knuckles soundly.

George didn’t sleep that night, eyes’ searing the image of his mother’s carved out name into his memory forever, and Dream stayed with him. He remained glued to George’s side, tepid fingers carefully tracing obscure shapes into his palm, heating him up through the insufferable, _bitter_ night.

When George was seventeen, Dream was the one who cried.

When George discovered him, the sombre boy was curled up in a protective ball, shaking hands clasped in dirty blond hair. George remembered clearly how his stomach dipped at the sight, impotence bubbling up his oesophagus, rendering his throat barren and dry.

He kneeled down and reached a hand out to brush over Dream’s arm lightly. George’s heart had plummeted when he flinched. His lips parted in a feeble attempt to hurdle over the silence pinning down on the two, but his jaw snapped shut when he spared a thought to how Dream had soothed _him,_ so many times before— soft, gentle and homely, George could clearly picture the warmth that the other boy had supplied him with.

Briskly, he found himself wedged into Dream’s side. Baring no hesitation, he slung a skinny arm over around the taller’s hunched shoulders and tugged him carefully into his body. George had sighed upon feeling Dream relax into him, shaking mellowing out ever so slightly. If their bodies hadn’t been flushed together, George wouldn’t have noticed. The brunet inclined his jaw to rest his chin atop Dream’s head, fair hair tickling over his lips.

No words were spoken, but they never were. The moon dipped, the sun rose over rolling hills and troubles continued to arise as day brought problems. It always did. But at the end of it, when the sun disappeared behind mountains and old buildings again and night arose, they had each other. Through silent touches and gentle, reassuring squeezes, Dream and George comforted each other, and would continue to until the night faded for the last time.

**Author's Note:**

> leave a kudos if you want and get some water <3
> 
> twitter is @xaccier, come hang :]


End file.
